


Say My Name.

by glanmire



Series: College AU's because that's not overdone at all. [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, Femslash, M/M, Pining, Slash, UST, identity theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glanmire/pseuds/glanmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven takes Charles' form to pick up girls at bars. It's unethical, and he'd kill her if he found out, but it's fun. </p><p>Until the stranger in the turtleneck thinks she is Charles, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Charles Xavier is a pretty handsome guy, with that classic English-boy look; a guy who can wear scarves, who opens doors for people and probably had a dog growing up that he loved. He’s earnest-looking, but just enough.  

Raven doesn’t think that Charles utilises these good-looks enough. She has no such qualms. What she’s doing is not exactly ethical, but Raven’s powers do not inspire strict moral guidelines. It’s already a lie when she tumbles into bed a man who thinks that she’s an All-American apple-pie beauty. How much worse can it really be that sometimes she goes out looking like Charles in order to pull women?  


Raven advocates fluidity. Even her relationship with her name is tenuous; she’s been flirting with a new name, Mystique, but hasn’t committed yet. Of course, her body is fluid, and so are her sexual preferences. _Bi_ seems to be the word, though _pan_ works too. It just seems crazy to say that she can’t kiss girls, when half the time she’s actually presenting as a dude anyway. It’s hard to get women to kiss you when you are a woman though - they’ll flirt and take the drink, but finding the girl who will actually kiss a girl is harder than it seems.  
One time, completely inadvertently, she’d found the solution. She’d forgotten her ID card for the library, and threw on Charles’ appearance like other people slip into a coat. They librarians loved him- like everyone who met Charles did - and they let her in. What she hadn’t expected was a pretty Hispanic girl to slip her number into Raven’s back pocket. She’d been flattered, until she remembered that she wasn’t blue, she wasn’t even blonde, which would have been something. It was Charles’ earnest face the girl liked, and Raven realised she could use that. 

 

The bar she chose was lightly packed, just loud enough. Better than that, there was barely any guys there, just a dude in a turtleneck who catches her gaze when she walks in, but Raven’s not in the mood for men tonight, and walks past. 

The night goes okay, nothing major. She does shots with a dark-skinned chick who’s name she just can’t recall, but the girl wanders off again. Raven herself isn’t on her game. The guy in the turtleneck is watching her. He’s hot, she’ll grant him that much; the other girls here see it too. They brush past him, and touch his arm when they talk to him. He could be made of stone for all attention he gives them. He stares at Raven, and she is not a blusher but Charles’ body is, and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. She stands to go that black girl again, and the man’s cold eyes follow her.  
  
“ _Janae_ ,”the girl tells her, and Raven doesn’t bother thinking of a fake male name that she wouldn’t remember, but just wraps her arms around Janae’s waist. She tries to lose herself in the music, lose herself in the girl in her arms. They dance, or more Janae dances and Raven sways. Charles’ body is not rhythmically inclined. Janae laughs, deep-throated that makes her afro bounce, and then Raven is kissing that throat, and then kissing the girl herself. Janae is soft and pretty and she laughs as they break apart and come back together, and Raven tries to ignore the guy at the bar.  
“Wanna come back to mine?” Janae asks, a whole while later, and Raven has to remember again that the girl doesn’t like her, it’s Charles she wants to sleep with. “Excuse me,” she says, and leaves her on the dance floor to get a drink, her gut twisting.  
  
“ _Charles_ ,” the guy says venomously as Raven knocks back a vodka, coming up behind her.  

Raven would say _hey,_ but she’s Charles, and Charles says hello. The stranger looks at the vodka in her hands, which Raven knows Charles doesn’t drink. So what? How well can this guy know Charles if she’s never met him?  
“You’ve had your fun Charles, and proved your point. We’re leaving now.” 

“Sorry?” Raven asks, pushing back from him. 

He frowns. “What’s the matter with you? I said we’re leaving.” 

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll just go get my jacket-”

“Here,” the guy says, shoving it under her arms and slamming a note down on the bar for her drink. 

She has no option but to follow him outside. It’s bitterly cold out, and Raven wishes she was alone so she could transform into someone wearing some more clothes. A parka would be nice, or at least a scarf. He’s still watching her, and she meets his gaze, apprehensive about what’s going to happen. 

“Look Charles,” the guy says, “While I didn’t appreciate seeing you stick your tongue down that girl’s throat, it did serve some purpose.” He swallows hard and steps closer to her, so she can smell his cologne and something cool and metallic. “I don’t want you with anyone else. _I_ want you Charles.” He watches Raven, and she doesn’t move or shake her head and he smiles- looking like a different person when he does- and then leans in and kisses her. Her belt buckle is pulls her towards him even as his lips slam down on her mouth, his hand in her hair like it’s urgent. They tangle, twist and end up slamming against a wall, the man kissing her like this is all he’s ever wanted, and Raven kisses back because he’s gorgeous and because it feels good to be wanted and because there’s no way out. His hands are warm as they slide up her back, and she feels her zipper go down of its own accord. This is further than is dignified, in an alleyway at least. Raven braces herself, pulls out of the kiss, and says, “Stop.” 

He freezes, as still as the statue of David, with just as many muscles, but all wrapped around her. “Charles?” he asks, his voice urgent. “Are you alright?”  
“No,” she says, “No, I can’t, I have to go-”

She’s said something wrong, because his eyes narrow and he grabs her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “ _Charles._ ” 

“Let me go,” she says, squirming, but not resorting to violence, because she might be able to talk her way out yet. 

“You’re not Charles,” he says curiously, but there’s a dangerous lilt to his voice. “Who are you?” 

“Don’t be silly, let me go-”  
“Say my name,” he commands, eyes glaciers, nails digging into her jaw. “You haven’t said my name once tonight. _Say it_.” His hand slipped down to her neck, an iron fist choking her. “Say it, you fucker.” 

“I don’t know,” she gasps, and he squeezes tighter. It’s gone past the point of her simply talking her way out, so Raven slams her knee up into his crotch and he collapses down, folding in on himself like a collapsing star. She bolts for the street, grateful not to be wearing stilettos, but Charles’ sensible loafers, when a _force_ begins to drag her backwards. Her belt buckle and the silver buttons on her shirt are straining, unwilling to let her move forward. She shoots a glances back to the guy. He’s still bent over, grimacing like mad but his hand outstretched, and she knows this is his doing. Raven fumbles at the shirt, willing to pull it off if she can get away, but the buttons surge from side to side so she can’t grab a hold of them.  
“Charles will find you,” the man vows from his undignified position on the floor, and Raven realises that if he even offhandedly mentions this to Charles that she’s be in massive trouble. How many other shape-shifters do they know? She turns, still struggling with the stupid, stupid buttons. 

“If you tell Charles about this, I’ll tell him you’re in love with him,” she says. It’s caustic, it’s cruel, but so is she. Raven never claimed to be ethical. 

“So?” the man asks, calling her bluff.  
She stares him down. “He’s not gay. I don’t know what you _think_ you have with him, but it’s all in your head. If I tell him, he’ll never be comfortable around you again. He’ll say it’s fine, but it won’t be.” 

“You’re lying.”   
“Go ahead and risk it.”  
Those cold eyes watch her, and then he relaxes his hand and the invisible force that had its grip on her is gone. She tenses, but he doesn’t move except to straighten up, tuck his shirt back in, and turn away. 

“Wait,” she calls after him. “What’s your name?”

“Erik Lehnsherr,” he says without turning. “And yours?”

She decides, then and there. “Mystique,” she says. 


	2. Chapter 2

Charles has been deliberately procrastinating introducing Erik to Raven. He’s not blind. Erik is a handsome man, and although Raven always swears she won’t do it, she has a track record of falling in love with his friends, which has proven to make things awkward.  

It’s a bit of an inconvenience then, when he’s just ambling along with Erik - who’s acting more obtuse than usual today, if that’s even possible - and they bump into her. 

“Hi Raven,” he says, nodding, and continuing to walk, hoping Erik will follow his lead. She too seems in a hurry, glancing up at Erik. Trepidation flashes through her mind, but it’s gone again before Charles can trace it.

“Wait, do you know each other?” he asks, stopping and turning back around.  
“No,” Erik answers. The bewilderment and vague disinterest in his mind would incline Charles to think he’s telling the truth, but he’s also getting it from Raven that she _does_ know Erik. Perhaps it’s as simple as her having a crush on him from afar. Charles is a firm believer in Occam’s Razor after all.

“We have established we don’t know each other. Do us the honour of introducing us, would you Charles?” Erik asks dryly. 

“Yes of course, my apologies. Erik, this here is my sister Raven, also a mutant. Raven, this is Erik, mutant as well, and a dear friend of mine.” He wants to smack himself in the face with a shovel. _Dear friend?_ He sounds like a twat of the highest order.  
“Nice to meet you Raven.” Erik extends a hand and she shakes it hurriedly. 

“Same yeah. Sorry Charles, I really have to dash.” She zips her jacket up further, and is just about to leave when Erik asks, “What’s your power?”. 

“Shapeshifting,” Charles answers, as a wave of fear strikes Raven, her face paling. Erik’s fury is near as instantaneous, so unexpected that the strength of it knocks Charles off-guard, and snags him in the gut like a fish dragged by a hook. 

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what did she do to you?” 

Erik blinks and he’s better control of his emotions again, the iron gates of his mind slamming closed. Charles could dart in between the gap, but he doesn’t. Not yet.

“Erik,” he prompts. 

“It’s nothing Charles.” - _why the hell would she do it to her brother, that’s fucked up-  need to talk - what’s Charles range?_

_Well it’s more than five feet anyway,_ Charles thinks to himself, but does not say, because he’s learnt it’s off-putting when you answer the questions people ask in their heads. “Actually, look, I just have to grab a thing - it’s very important that I do, right now. Why don’t you to get to know each other while I go retrieve the thing?” 

He’s never been great at improvisation, and it only proves how out of focus Erik is, and how skittish Raven is, when they don’t pick up on it. 

Charles wanders away, turning a corner and plonking himself down on a bench. He can still mentally hear them of course - he’d have to leave the city at the very least if he wanted to tune them out completely - but this at least grants them the illusion of privacy. 

He closes his eyes, realises he looks like a prat, fishes out earphones, and pops them in. They’re not even connected to anything, but it’s only the illusion that matters. 

When it comes to mind-reading, Charles has two options. He can skim the surface, which is like standing at a newspaper kiosk and seeing all the various headlines, but not able to read the full articles unless he commits to one paper. He can’t turn that ambient-noise sort of telepathy off. His other option is a choice however: to deep, dive into a world seen through someone else’s eyes. He’s blind, only about to hear their surface thoughts, unless he chooses to see through one of their viewpoints, but he doesn’t know whose to choose. 

Raven speaks first. He hears her disconnected voice in his head, from Erik’s thoughts. “What did you want to talk about - Erik, did you say your name was?”  
“Cut it out, you lying whore.” 

Charles doesn’t like Erik’s tone, or his language, and darts into the mind of a man who’s walking past, just so he can make sure that Raven is safe.  
Edilio doesn’t care about the two strangers squabbling. He’s late for work, and Don will kill him if he forgets the cake tonight. Charles has to focus to get the man to flick his gaze over to where they’re standing. Erik isn’t touching her. 

Charles rises out of Edilio’s mind, still dripping with the stranger’s worries like he’s after emerging from a pool. 

“Well you found me,” Raven is saying, defiant. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Telling Charles is what I’m doing to do.” 

“What good would that do you? Do you think that’s going to win you favours with him?My threat still stands anyway.” 

Erik sighs. “It would seem that we’re at an impasse then.” 

Charles doesn’t know what threat it is that they’re referring to. He makes a choice and jumps into Raven’s head. 

She’s trying to stay cool. Charles won’t find out if she keeps her head.

“Look Erik, can’t you just get over it? Neither of us will say anything.”

“Raven, my game plan is to continue being Charles friend, until we end up in the exact situation as last week, but for real this time. When that happens, you’ve lost what your hold over me - my feelings for him - and there’s nothing stopping me telling him what you’ve done.”

 

Charles yanks himself out of Raven’s head so fast he feels the mental whiplash. They keep talking, unaware as he sits on the bench, holding his head in his hands. _my feeling for him,_ he repeats in his own thoughts. Raven and Erik continue on, unknowing. 

“But you wouldn’t _have_ to tell him.”

“No I wouldn’t. But what you did - what you’re probably still doing- is wrong, and I will not withhold information from him just to suit you.” 

“You’re self-centred. I don’t know what he sees in you.” 

“I think you are the selfish one of us Raven. Right now, I recommend you tell Charles what you’ve been doing in his body before I do it for you.” 

“I don’t like you Erik. Charles will never go for someone I disapprove of.” 

Erik laughs. “Mystique, in a few years, you’re going to be good at this game, but right now you’re outplayed.” 

“Am I?” 

“What now?” Erik is impatient. Even from where he is, Charles senses that much. This matter is settled in Erik’s mind, and he’s sick of this girl and her role in all this. 

“You wanted to screw me over just because you could. Well _fuck_ you Erik, I don’t go down that easily.” Raven’s mind is full of crystalline, diamond-sharp anger.  
“Charles?” she calls out, mentally and aloud. “I know you’re listening Charles.”

“What are you doing?” Erik asks roughly.  
Charles leaves his bench, and begins to walk over them. When Raven spots him she smiles, and screws her eyes shut, and just like that, shows Charles what actually happened that night. 

 

(He sees himself, squirming in Erik’s arms. “No,” he says, but he never said that - this never happened “No, I can’t, I have to go-”

Erik’s eyes narrow, and he grabs Charles’ jaw - though it’s not his jaw, it’s Raven’s, pretending to be him.

“Let me go,” Raven protests in his body, but Erik isn’t fooled. “You’re not Charles. Who are you?” 

“Don’t be silly, let me go-”  
“Say my name,” he commands. “You haven’t said my name once tonight. Say it.” He moves hands so he’s choking her. _How dare he_? Charles thinks. 

“Say it, you fucker,”  Erik spits, and Charles goes cold, even as Raven stammers that she doesn’t know.  Erik squeezes tighter until Raven slams Charles’  knee up into Erik’s crotch, so she can escape. Erik collapses down as Raven bolts, making an expression Charles has never seen on his face before. She stills only seconds later, thrashing as Erik stretches a hand, holding her back against her will with his power.)   
  
“please,” Charles hears his own voice say distantly, “please that’s enough now Raven, I’ve seen enough, thank you.” 

The vision blurs and dissipates, and he sees Erik is in front of him, in real time, his brow furrowed. “What did she show you Charles?” 

Charles considers this man, a man who strangled his sister, and then without preamble, socks him in the jaw. Erik keels over again, just like in the memory. “What the hell was that for?” he yells, but sounding hurt more emotionally than physically. 

“For choking my sister you dick!”  
Erik blinks, his hand cradling his jaw. “You don’t understand what she did- an imposter - she might have hurt you”. 

“You also tried to choke her to death Erik, and held her back when she tried to escape! My sister, Erik. She didn't know what she was doing."  
"I didn't know -"  
Charles can sense Raven’s glee behind him, and whips around. “ _You._ Do not take this to mean you have gotten away with this either. You could have accepted the situation gracefully and told me what happened, but instead, you felt the need to drag Erik down with you.” Raven opens her mouth to protest but he flicks a hand. “Just don’t. I’m very disappointed in you Raven. Why on earth would you want to impersonate me anyway?” 

She mumbles the words, but he hears them as clear in her head. _because I’m gay, alright?_

“Raven, did you honestly think that I didn’t _know?_ Even if I weren’t a telepath I’d have to be blindnot to see how you look at girls. That _does not mean you can pretend to be a man to give you an advantage!”_

“Charles-” both of them say, both wounded in different ways, but he’s having none of it. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says, lapsing back into his manners even though he’s seething. “Look, I need a moment, okay? _Several_ long moments, I think.” He strides away before either of them can protest, and does his best to tune out their thoughts - which, typically of both Erik and Raven, are completely unapologetic and think that all of this has been unfair. 

Charles puts his earphones back in, but this time he actually plays music. Anything to drown them out right now. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Looking for prompts and ideas for my next story, just so you all know. thanks).

People with Asperger’s aren’t supposed to be very imaginative; they see the world the way it is, clean-cut and without illusions. In Erik’s case, he sees it as a great tinkering machine that only he can override, the nuts and bolts that hold it all together malleable in his hands. He’s not so proficient at understanding double-meanings in words, or people’s tones, or why they do what they do. He’s not so good at dreaming either. These last few weeks though, he’s been picturing holding Charles’ hand, or hearing his dreams after he broadcasts them, or making him a cup of tea after sex, things that never happened. 

Never mind that Charles isn’t gay, but even then forgetting that, why would someone as confident as him want someone like Erik, someone’s who’s _on the spectrum_? 

 

  _“He’s not gay,”_ Charles’ voice sneers at him, Mystique’s words cutting him cold even in memory. _“I don’t know what you think you have with him, but it’s all in your head.”_

 

He’s angry. The fury rips through him, burning everything it touches. He’s _broken,_ he’s a mutant, he’s Jewish, he’s gay, he’s autistic and it’s suddenly too much. 

The metal in the apartment begins to glow red, and he knows he’s imposing his white-hot anger onto it but can’t help it. 

Emma is home, he knows and he tries to steel himself even though he wants to hit someone. He viciously remembers choking Charles, choking Mystique. 

From the front room, she calls out his name. “Erik?” 

One clear word, he knows she’s read the day’s events from his thoughts, skimmed over his deepest thoughts with disinterest like it was a gossip column. 

He walks into the living room slowly, his anger hard in his chest. The metal in the apartment is keening like a lost lover, a dreadful scream that he knows he’s causing but can’t stop. 

“Erik, darling, could you relax with the whole metal situation? The television isn’t working.” 

He watches the screen. It’s a black and white scramble. He breathes, in through his nostrils and out again, and the reception flicks back on. The pots and pans quieten, hesitate, and then rises again like the scream of a boiling kettle. His hands are trembling. 

“He’s had quite an effect on you,” she says. “You could do better than a pompous little thing like him.”

“Stop it,” he warns. 

“I’m not the one who’s lost all control.” 

“Emma-”

Her gaze flickers over him briefly, fearless. “I’m just saying that you could do better.” 

He watches her, thinks about how little she cares about all this, and somehow it helps. His anger gets colder, like a frozen lamp-post that will rip off the tips of his fingers if he tries to touch it, but if Emma has taught him anything, it’s that cold is better than hot. 

The reception comes back all at once, a clear image of a family smiling a commerical. The metal in the apartment stops screeching too, and the sudden silence makes him realise how loud it had been.  
“That’s better,” she says, and turns away from him. He’s about to leave when she adds, “That boy is at the door, you know. Better see what he wants.” 

 

 

 

 

 

When Erik opens the door, he’s not sure what to expect, but Charles is standing outside, his hand poised to knock. 

“Err, hi,” Charles says, “How did you know I was outside?” 

“Emma.” 

That perplexes Charles for a moment, which Erik likes, but then he nods in understanding seconds later. It must be so easy to be a telepath, and have all the answers handed to you. It doesn’t seem fair that Charles can be so charming and a telepath, and that Erik has Asperger’s and can’t cheat his way through social encounters. 

“So, why are you here?” Erik asks. He leaves his tone purposely polite and cool. Last time he saw Charles he got a punch and no apology, and he’s not exactly over it. 

“Well, Raven has apologised for the whole incident and assured me that she knows what she did was wrong. I thought you ought to know.” 

“That’s good.”

Charles looks up and catches his gaze. “Also Erik, I am extremely sorry that I hit you. I admit that it was a complete overreaction. At least the swelling seems to have gone down somewhat.” 

“Somewhat,” Erik says, giving no ground. 

Charles sighs. “Look, Raven is my kid sister, and I wanted to protect her. Haven’t you ever felt protective?”  
Erik thinks back to when he’d thought that some imposter had hurt Charles, to the emotion he does not want to name but felt too close to fear, to love, for him to be comfortable with it. “Rarely,” he concedes. 

“Do you- so do you accept this apology then?” 

Charles’ eyes are hopeful, and Erik remembers looking deep into those eyes before kissing him outside that nightclub. It wasn’t even Charles, but that doesn’t negate the memory, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel real. 

Erik steps back, leaning against the door. He focuses on the tattoo of the periodic table he’s been contemplating, because he does not want Charles catching that other, unallowed line of thought.

“Of course I accept,” he says, but Charles is frowning, and looking past him. “Hello,” he says, suddenly formal, as Emma walks to Erik’s side, silent as a cat. “You must be Charles,” she says after a moment. She doesn’t extend a hand. 

“Emma Frost,” he says in return. He’s standing straighter, stiff. Erik realises that Charles does not encounter other telepaths very often, and he tries to diffuse the situation. 

“Myself and Charles were just having a private moment Emma, if you don’t mind.” 

She doesn’t seem to hear him though. They’re lost in each other’s minds, and Erik feels like he’s been forgotten, that anything he says now is will be without consequence. They have already arrived at their own conclusions. 

Emma begins to smile. If Erik smiles like a shark, then Emma smiles like a tiger that wants to show off her teeth before she goes for the jugular. 

Charles speaks at last. “There’s no need-” he says quietly, not to Erik at all. 

Emma between the two of them, deciding. “Charles, Erik is in love with you,” she says. “Somebody ought to say it.” 

She slips back into the house before Erik can process, before he can move or say something. He freezes, stares at the ground as if his salvation, his escape, will be found on the pavement. For some reason, he expects to see ice there, but pathetic fallacy is only found in fiction, and it’s actually a warm day outside, no matter how cold to the bone he feels right now. 

“Erik?” Charles says, exceedingly soft. He doesn’t look up. Everything is broken now. Charles should just leave. 

“Erik, look at me.” 

He drags his eyes up, expecting to see scorn, but Charles’s expression is unreadable. Most people’s are to Erik. 

“Emma is in love with you too,” he says. “Well, she thinks she is at least. It’s evidently a one-sided crush more than anything.” He shrugs. “Her outburst was just from a spot of jealously on her part.” 

“I didn’t know,” Erik says dumbly. Everything you say to a telepath is dumb. He wants to discreetly turn around and wallop his head against the wall for a few hours. 

“Don’t-” Charles says, concerned. “It’s only- well, I quite like your head the way it is. I wouldn’t want any damage inflicted onto it because of me.”   

“You… like my head?” 

Charles looks aghast, and actual dots of colour rise in his cheeks. “I can’t believe I just said that.” He puts a hand over his mouth as if to stop it causing further damage. There’s a hesitation then between them. Erik understands that this is a crucial moment; another second and Charles will shrug and say goodbye; he’ll be gone like a bright scarf tugged away by the wind unless Erik grabs hold of it tight. 

“Do you want to come inside?” he asks, just as Charles says, “Look Erik, can I come in?” 

“Yes,” he says, meaninglessly, and moves aside. Charles smiles at him as he passes through the doorway, his fingers brushing against Erik’s, just the hint of a promise.

“I can make you dinner,” he offers even as he tries to remember if there’s anything in the fridge that could resemble a dinner if it comes down to it. Charles smiles again. 

“Is this a date, Erik? If I’d known that, I’d have worn a nicer shirt.” He looks down at the blue fabric as if it has disappointed him terribly, and smooths the bottoms of it with his palms.

“It’s a good shirt,” Erik manages. “Matches your eyes.” 

“My eyes?” Charles inquires, and then nods. “Aha. Well, we’ve established that I like your head, and you like my shirt. I guess dinner does seem appropriate at this point then.” 

 

“ _He’s not gay_ ,” Mystique insists in his memory, but Erik ignores her. He’s never been brilliant at reading people, but for once he’s relaxed. Emma’s words have acted like a catalyst, a visceral chemical reaction that Charles _must_ feel too. 

He steps forwards, catching the ends of Charles’ shirt with his hands. The air itself seems to be electric between them, and Charles’ breath is warm against his neck. 

“It’s still wrinkled,” he says, keeping his voice level, even if his heart is stabbing in his chest. 

“Oh dear, you seem to be right. Whatever shall I do?” Charles asks, teasing. They breathe for a second, the fabric still caught still in Erik’s fists - _so different from when he caught Mystique’s neck -_ and somehow their bodies are pressed right up together, Charles backed up against the wall. 

“Guess you’ll just have to take it off,” Erik says. “I can’t have wrinkled shirts in my house. Myself and Emma have strict standards here, you know.” 

Charles laughs, throwing his head back. His neck is pale, exposed, and on some instinct Erik moves his lips against it, just a barest graze so he can taste Charles’ cologne. 

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to part with the shirt this easily. I think you’ll have to make me,” Charles murmurs. 

Erik runs a finger down Charles’ chest, and Charles shivers under the touch. “I’m sure I can convince you.” 

“You do seem to have a knack for that alright.” 

Erik grins, and with a flex of his fingers the buttons on Charles’ shirt fall away, the lightest metal rainfall on the floor.

“Well played,” Charles says softly, as Erik pushes the shirt off of him, runs his fingers over Charles’ arms, his lower back. The hairs on his arms are standing up, and the energy between them is crackling, electric. Erik is extremely turned on, and he suspects that Charles is too, but he does not kiss him yet. He will not make that mistake again. Charles will kiss him, or it won’t happen at all. 

“Oh Erik,” Charles says. “You aren’t even planning on making me dinner, are you?” 

“It isn’t my top priority right now,” he admits as he gently winds his hands around Charles’ waist, their chests rubbing up against one another’s, Charles’ bare and exposed.

“At least you’re honest.” 

“I try to be,” he says, and they’re honest to God pressed up against each other like teenagers, sparks flying on the points of contact. Erik will not move though, not beyond this tease, this anticipation, not until he’s explicitly allowed. 

“If you insist,” Charles huffs, and leans forward to kiss him. Their lips have barely touched when Erik hears Emma laugh from the other room. He’d forgotten all about her. 

“No need to thank me,” she calls out, and Erik finds himself laughing, and Charles is too, and then they kiss again and he forgets her once more, forgets everything but Charles in his arms. 

 


End file.
